Stolen Wine and Cheap Cigarettes
by cattney
Summary: With the ache of summer & sting of puberty on him, Sherlock Holmes is feeling uncomfortable in his skin. Trying to keep a level head is proving to be difficult, especially with his best friend's insistence on bringing around the only girl who has gotten under his skin. Can Sherlock keep his emotions in check, or will he fall to his hormones? Teenlock Sherlolly AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written, so don't be too harsh :) this chapter is short because I'd like to see the reception it gets before I post more. Enjoy, R&R!**

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson managed their way through the crowd of high-strung teenagers towards the entrance of the school. The final bell had rung just moments prior, signaling the beginning of summer break. The excitement was thick enough in the air to almost become tangible. The students roamed in packs, vying towards the door to be freed from the mundane repetition of studies and classes in favor of seven weeks of unscheduled bliss. John shared this electric anxiousness along with his classmates. Sherlock, however, carried on with his usual air of nonchalance and boredom.

John let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he turned to Sherlock and said "It's about damn time for classes to be out. Feels like we've been in year eleven for ages. This summer, Sherlock Holmes, will be the best summer of our high school careers. Don't doubt that for a bloody second."

Sherlock smirked "So, she finally replied to one of your text messages?"

"Nothing gets past you, Holmes."

* * *

Molly Hooper was carrying a sizeable stack of books that had previously had a home in her locker that were now destined back to the bookshelf in her bedroom. About half of them were gifts from teachers, wishing her well in her next year and asking her to please visit and keep them up to date on her progress. Molly didn't want to admit that she had become a bit of a teacher's pet. As she attempted to steer through the bustling hall, a shoulder came into forceful contact with her back, sending the books in her grasp flying to the ground. Her face reddened from embarrassment while she gathered all her books back into her hands. If this was any sign of how her summer would be, she would rather just sleep it through.

* * *

"No! Sherlock, you idiot! You're supposed to flank me while I scope the room for the enemy team! Bloody hell, that's the third death this round that you could have prevented!"

"I don't see why it matters; it's merely a video game. Meant to pass time. Not enough mental stimulation playing the way you prefer. Employing accounted-for military tactics into the strategy makes it more interesting."

"Yeah well your strategy seems to be 'how many times can I make sure John Watson gets shot?'"

"Merely a casualty. It's not real nonetheless. As if you would ever find yourself shot at in a war."

"What's that supposed to mean? I could very well be shot if I went to war!"

"You have all intentions of becoming a medical man. Army doctors statistically suffer from less gunshot wounds than most other field-related occupations in a war zone."

"You're a right git, you know that?"

"I've been told."

John stood from his position on the floor and headed toward the kitchen. "I'm about to make a sandwich. You want one?"

"No thank you." Sherlock muttered as he felt a vibration in his pocket.

_You know where to find me. Come and rejoin the game._

John walked into the living room with two plates when he noticed Sherlock wasn't there. With a sigh, he put the sandwiches in baggies and left a note for his mother.

_With Sherlock. Don't worry. Ill check in before dinner. Love you._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's chapter two! I've already got the first five chapters written out so I'll be posting one a day until then. **

Molly sat alone at her desk, researching universities, when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. She called for the knocker to come in and her father opened the door. "Molls, that Watson kid's downstairs. If you don't want him here just say the word and you'll have come down with an unfortunate summer fever."

"No, its fine, dad. Just give me a minute. I'll be down. She sighed as she closed her laptop and checked herself in the mirror. Where John went, _he_ was bound to be around and she didn't want to look like a fool in front of him. Again.

* * *

It was December and the winter formal was quickly approaching. Sherlock normally wouldn't have given it another thought, but it was hard to ignore when it was all he had heard anyone speak of. He was preparing a slide for his microscope in his advanced biology class when his lab partner, Molly Hooper, had sneezed rather loudly and caused him to drop the slide. He cursed under his breath and continued work.

"Uh, Sherlock?" Molly had said. Her voice quavered as he spoke. She was a rather mousy girl, but pleasant enough. She was the only person in the class anywhere near his level, so he could tolerate her more than the other students.

"Yes, what is it." He droned.

"I, uh. I got you something. A gift. It's a present, actually. I saw it at a book shop and it reminded me of you so I went ahead and got it. I hope that isn't too weird. I mean, we do work together nicely. I think we might be considered friends, even. In some cases at least."

"Molly, you are much more attractive when you don't babble if you were wondering."

"Oh. Uh. Well. Here, then." She sheepishly handed him a book titled The Hardy Boys: The Tower Treasure. "You, uh. You mentioned before about crimes. Crime solving being an interest."

"I do believe I did. Thank you, Molly. It's a kind gift." He put the book in his bag and returned to the microscope.

"There's a, note. In it. In the book. I put it there. Read it after class, okay?" He nodded his understanding and returned to the microscope.

_Sherlock, will you go to winter formal with me? Molly xx_

Along with it she included her mobile number, for a response. After consulting with his best mate John, who thought it would be a lovely idea, (as well as his mother) he decided that he would accompany Molly to winter formal.

The event was in the school gymnasium. Sherlock had agreed to meet Molly out front of the school. He wasn't one for dinner reservations and small talk over tea. He hardly had any desire to attend this gathering of his peers at all. But John had heavily insisted that he go because he felt that it would benefit him to socialize with someone other than John himself. What had finally pushed him into going was his mother informing him that Mycroft had attended every formal when he was in school, all with dates of high social standing. Sherlock didn't care much for social standing but he did care about failing at something his brother achieved.

Sherlock walked towards the school with a corsage in hand when he saw John, his date, and Molly waiting for him. Molly wore a deep blue dress that flowed to the floor in an elegant way. The dress' Queen Ann neckline encased her collarbones delicately and made her neck look slender and appealing. The fabric caressed her body perfectly, displaying a petite figure that made up for in rear what it lacked in chest. He felt himself captivated by her. She looked so well put-together that he had a hard time believing she was the same girl who came to class in baggy pants and cat sweaters.

He overheard the three speaking. Molly was close friends with John's date and she was thanking the other girl for doing her makeup and hair. The girl complimented Molly, telling her that her dress looked phenomenal on her. Molly slightly blushed as she heard the compliment, smoothing the dress out and giggling as she shrugged it off.

Sherlock turned and ran.

That night he had received several strongly worded voicemails and text messages from John. He ignored them all. He instead shut his feelings away, locking them in a box that he intended to be left shut.

John hadn't heard any word from Sherlock on what happened that night until two months later. Sherlock hadn't even tried to make an excuse as to why he had stood Molly up. He simply did not speak of it. When John would ask, Sherlock would answer him with an unrelated question.

He and John had stolen a bottle of wine from Sherlock's father and snuck onto the roof outside John's window. While Sherlock usually didn't indulge himself in teenage rebellions as his peers did, he was still a teenager and his hormone riddled adolescent brain still had an itch of curiosity to it.

They had finished off the bottle, laying back and watching the stars, as the haze of alcohol made their minds swim. They soon found themselves saying the things they never said while sober. John told Sherlock about his curiosity in becoming an army doctor when finished with schooling, and how he had broken it off with his last girlfriend because he was as afraid of sex as he was curious, which lead Sherlock to confess to John the infatuation which had gripped him the night of winter formal.

As Sherlock spilled his heart, John looked at his friend and thought to himself, 'so there really is a heart buried deep within that brain.'

Molly and John had remained friends after the incident, but Sherlock was a different story. When she came into class the Monday after, her teacher informed her that she would be working with a different lab partner for the rest of the term. She hadn't spoken to Sherlock since.

* * *

**Hope you guys liked this one :) it's the longest I have written, but don't worry, I'll probably start writing them longer after I get the first five posted!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the great reviews! I really appreciate all the positive feedback, especially since this is my first fic :) You guys discover who the mystery texter is, but it's not who you think...**

* * *

Molly greeted John at the door, ignoring her father who watched closely from the hall.

"Hi, John. What's up?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang for a bit. Go and do something maybe."

"Sure, give me just a second." Molly closed the door and turned to her father. "Dad. He isn't even the one who stood me up. Lay off a bit, yeah? I'm gonna go out with John. I'll be back before dinner. I've got my mobile." She kissed his cheek. "Love you!" She called behind her and she opened the door and left the house.

"So, where are we off to?" She inquired.

"You'll see." He replied.

They arrived at the Holmes' townhouse in a posh part of London twenty minutes later.

"Where are we?" Molly asked. The buildings were immaculate and the people walking around looked like they had important, well-paid jobs.

John smiled as he knocked on the door. A dark haired woman answered, smiling kindly at John. She looked familiar to Molly, as if she had seen those eyes before...

"Hello, John." The woman said.

"Mrs. Holmes. This is Molly Hooper. She's a classmate of mine and Sherlock's. Do you mind?"

Molly felt like she'd been slapped. Why on earth would John bring her to Sherlock's house after what had happened at formal? It was bad enough being reminded of it on a consistent basis, especially with her dad now on alert to threaten any boy who dare come by.

Mrs. Holmes lead them inside to a sitting room, offering them tea and biscuits before disappearing to another part of the house.

"John, why are we here?"

"Well, I uh, I feel as though amends need to be made."

"I don't want to make amends. Really, I don't. I'm over it." Her face told the opposite story. The truth was that it had caused Molly to shut herself away more than she previously had. It was her first time expressing her feelings to a boy, only to have them thrown back in her face. It embarrassed and scarred her, ensuring that she wouldn't attempt any more relationships while in high school.

Suddenly, there rang a gunshot from upstairs, followed by a woman's scream of "WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!"

"Bloody hell," John exalted as he jumped out of his seat and raced into another room and up the stairs. Molly followed, not just out of curiosity but lack of desire to sit alone in a strange home.

They reached upstairs where they heard Mrs. Holmes lecturing her son.

"Were you trying to give me a heart attack? What in God's creation would possess you to shoot the bloody wall? You are very lucky your father isn't here or he'd've already strung you up by your toes and taken all your books!"

"If he did it would take me fifteen minutes to find them again."

"Don't you DARE talk back to me if you know what's good for you, boy. Mycroft, please give us a moment."

"Certainly, mother."

John and Molly, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, quickly moved from outside the door into the empty office across the hall. They waited until they heard Mycroft's bedroom door close before they returned to their position at Sherlock's door. Sure, it may have been an invasion of privacy but John knew damn well if they were to ask Sherlock why he shot a gun in his bedroom, he wouldn't have gotten a straight answer.

"Darling, I love you. You are such a bright boy and you're going to do so well in life and that makes your father and I so incredibly proud so can you please just tell me why you try to kill your brother whenever he returns home from Uni?" She sounded utterly exasperated and Molly was nowhere near surprised. How any two people could attempt to control Sherlock Holmes was completely beyond her.

There was a muttered statement.

"Sherlock, sweetie, I can't understand you when you mumble."

"I said because he's a prick!"

"SHERLOCK."

"Sorry, mum. I am. Sorry. Really. I mean it."

Mrs. Holmes sighed. "Promise me that you will at least think about visiting your doctor this week. The appointment is made, as it always is. All we need is for you to show."

"I will consider it." He said very curtly. Molly assumed it was an uphill battle and Sherlock giving her just this little bit of hope was enough for his mother.

"Thank you."

Mrs. Holmes stood and headed to the door, John and Molly just barely getting into the vacant office before she opened the door. Closing it behind her she said, "John, Molly, you may go in and see Sherlock now." And continued towards the stairs.

_Well, she IS the mother of Sherlock Holmes, John thought._

* * *

**Hope you guys enjoyed it! I might post chapter four tonight just because I really love it and I'm excited to hear what you guys think about it. Oh, and the reason I made Sherlock's full name "William Sherlock Scott Holmes" was because I googled Sherlock's middle name and found that. It's not canon but I love the way it sounds so I stuck with it :)**


	4. Chapter 4

John walked to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

John followed his friend's instructions and lead Molly into the room. Upon seeing her, Sherlock's face blanched and his mouth opened. For the first time in his sixteen years, Sherlock actually had nothing to say.

"H-hello, Sherlock." Molly stammered. Sherlock, unable to form words, nodded.

"So, pray tell why on earth you tried to shoot Mycroft." John's voice broke through Sherlock's reverie and pulled him back to Earth.

"He started on how he always does when he comes home from Uni."

"Well, yeah, but something he said had to have been different. You usually don't shoot at him. Last time it was poison. You're more, calculating, about your assassination attempts on your brother."

"Good observation, John. I am impressed. This time was different. He submitted to more personal attacks regarding my body's, ahh, transformative state."

"Wait. You mean to tell me you shot at your brother because he made a joke about puberty?"

Sherlock gave John a look that said _I recognize that this is your interpretation, but I like my wording better._

"Molly." Sherlock started. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, uh, um. Hi. John asked me, well he asked me to come with him."

"I see. Molly, will you please excuse us?" Sherlock then lead John back into the office across the hall and closed the door. Without John, she wouldn't be brave enough to listen at the door so he had no use minding his words.

"Why's she here."

"Because, Sherlock, you like her."

Sherlock looked taken aback. "Nonsense. I do not fall victim to unwanted chemical responses in the brain."

"Oh shove off. You're sixteen, you bloody prude. We both know damn well that you refuse to acknowledge that you haven't much control over your hormones. I bet that's why you snapped at Mycroft. He pointed out something you've been trying to ignore. But you can't ignore it Sherlock, it's—"

"ENOUGH." Sherlock yelled. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

He sighed and continued. "I will consider it."

"Consider what?"

"Molly. Teenage _things_. Emotions. Hormones. That sort."

"Good. Well. Can't say I'm not pleased. Now, come on. There's trouble to be had."

Sherlock, John, and Molly leaned against the railing of the Millennium Bridge. Sherlock was smoking a cigarette. Molly looked at him with questioning in her eyes. She hadn't thought Sherlock Holmes to be the type to smoke, but then again there was a lot about him she hadn't known. Sherlock saw her looking and held the pack out towards her. "It helps me think."

"Oh, I-uh. I don't smoke."

Sherlock smirked at this. Little Miss Molly Hooperwas innocent enough. That needs to be taken care of.

He kept holding the pack towards her.

"Sherlock, I just said I don't smoke. I'm going to Uni to be a doctor."

He took two cigarettes from the pack and placed them in both Molly's and John's mouths.

"What's the use of wanting to be a doctor if you're not at least a bit sick?" He lit the cigarettes in the two future-doctor's mouths. John was already a smoker. While he did intend to become a doctor and smoking wasn't exactly a very doctoral activity, he was just a teenager rebelling how teenagers do.

Molly took a drag off the cigarette and promptly gagged so hard that she had vomited just a bit. The bile dropped through the air and into the Thames, making a small splash.

"Ugh, this is disgusting! How do you do this?" She looked at Sherlock in horror, to which he replied with a stifled giggle and smirk.

"Keep at it. It gets easier. Don't inhale so much."

"John, don't you want to go to Uni and become a doctor too? Why do you smoke?"

John flicked his finished cigarette into the water and stretched his arms toward the sky.

"Because I'm sixteen and I'm invincible and I'll have time for regrets when I'm an old git running around with this prick." He gestured towards Sherlock. "Now, come on. Its summer and we've got time to waste."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Hey guys! I know it's been a couple days since the last update and I said I would post the first five chapters consecutively but my week has been hellish. Here's chapter five! I'm really nervous about parts of it so if there's anything that doesn't make sense or any plot holes just let me know :) Six will be posted in a couple days if I get good news from my doctor. If not, then I'm not entirely sure. But enough of that, enjoy!

* * *

The three spent the remainder of the day walking around London, smoking cigarettes, and telling jokes. Molly remained quiet throughout most of the affair, still uneasy around the attractive boy who had humiliated her those months ago. The two boys talked and John tried to keep her in their conversation. The topic always seemed to drift back to this new girl John was infatuated with. He alternated between texting her hearts and asking Molly questions about her, as if all girls had a complete database of all the other girls they knew in their heads. Molly did do her best to answer him, however.

Eventually, they came to sit at an outdoor café, drinking coffee and tea after they had finished their sandwiches, when John cleared his throat. It had been a quiet and sufficiently awkward meal due to the fact that neither Molly nor Sherlock wanted to speak to the other. They both looked at him upon hearing the sound.

"Sherlock, why don't you go ahead and show Molly that thing you do." Molly's face reddened at this, thinking far too much into it as she always does.

"Oh, no, no it's, uh. Fine really. No need to show me anything!"

"No, you'll get a kick outta this." John smirked as he saw Sherlock's jaw tighten and his eyes scan the passers-by as he went to work.

"There," Sherlock pointed with his finger casually as to not draw attention to them. "The dark-haired woman with the blue bag. Foreign. From America, the tan says west coast but at this time of year it could also mean the south. I'd dare to say the south due to the slight drawl she possessed I had heard before she hung up her phone. She isn't here as a tourist, she's walked these streets plenty of times before. No one's with her and she hasn't a map or on her phone looking for directions there. She holds herself with enough confidence to suggest an inflated ego. Her clothes are stylish enough, yet simple so that she doesn't look like she's trying too hard. The sunglasses are designer and brand new, the tag is still attached. So she bought them in a hurry. Now, why would a well-dressed, cocky woman from the US know her way around London so well? Because she's an escort. But not the common kind, no, most common prostitutes from the US, I will assume, don't frequent London. Men do pay her for a service, yes, but not one of purely sexual nature. They pay for her companionship. Often when men of a great fortune, but not enough time to sustain a real relationship get lonely, they pay girls like these to live with them and act as companions for certain amounts of time. I'm to assume that she's a hireling of one of the actors starring in the American movie being filmed just across London. Judging by her accent, she's been hired by whichever man on set holds a permanent residence in the American south. Am I right or am I wrong, Watson?"

"Completely correct." John smiled as he held out his phone to display to Sherlock and Molly a celebrity gossip webpage with candids of the young woman on the arm of an up-and-coming American actor.

"Hold on a minute." Molly said. Sherlock's eyebrows cocked as he gave her glance that said _Prove me wrong. I dare you._

With a gulp, she continued. "How do you know she's an escort? How do you know that they aren't dating?"

Taking a deep breath and leaning back in the chair, Sherlock began. "I know that she is an escort and they are not dating because she knows London so well. Only five American movies had scenes filmed in London in the past year and I highly doubt whomever she is with would be in all five of them plus this current one. Also, she's walking alone. If she were dating her companion, he most likely wouldn't have let her wander London without him. He'd want her around set to keep him company between takes. But he doesn't want her there, or rather; she doesn't care to be there. Her sunglasses—she wants to hide her face. Hastily bought with tags still attached—she didn't think she would need to hide until it was too late. She's usually careful about her work. Never been caught on the arm of a famous man before. But she's cocky, she isn't gonna let that keep her cooped up in a hotel room or trailer. If they were dating, she'd have no problem hiding away because then it would be her personal life, her relationships on display, not her career. And she probably wants to get caught, just a bit. In her line of work any press is good press. The more rich men that see her and want something that's been caught in the limelight, the better."

Molly stared, open-mouthed, as they noticed paparazzi that began to swarm around the young woman. She had a hint of a smile on her face as she tried to look annoyed at the crowd she was pushing through.

"H-h-how? What?" Molly questioned as she stared at the smug grin on Sherlock's face. As much as she hated to admit it, he looked damn good right now.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hey everyone! Sorry about the wait, I've been really busy with work. If anyone was curious, my doctor's visit went much better than I had anticipated!

Now to answer some questions:

I didn't base this off of the American schooling system, I did do some googling of the British school system, but that isn't always reliable so I tried to mention the actual structure of the system as little as possible.

I know that they would have been teens in the eighties but I have no clue what life was like in the eighties (I was born in 93!) much less what it would have been like for sixteen-year-olds in London in the eighties. I decided to stick to the age old rule of "Write what you know!"

When Sherlock had mentioned an actor shooting a film in London, John had pulled up a Perez Hilton-type website on his phone and scrolled until he found a picture of the woman who had walked past them, which is how he had gotten it up so quickly.

_Now back to the fic!_

* * *

"That really was incredible, Sherlock. How did you—"

"Deduction. It's a science. Not quite perfected, but I imagine far superior to anything you've seen before." He said with an air of pride he didn't even remotely try to hide.

Sherlock certainly got a high from the appraisal of those he felt beneath his intellectual level. But with Molly, it was better. It was different. He couldn't explain, and he certainly didn't want to think on it too greatly. But it was then that he realized he wanted Molly Hooper to think of him as a great man.

Molly's cell phone rang and she looked at the screen with a sigh. "Sorry, it's my dad." She stood from the table and walked out of hearing distance.

Sherlock's eyebrow cocked at this. "Overprotective father?"

"Very. He's got blood for you as well. Because, y'know, winter formal…" John said, trying to approach the subject without making it too obvious.

"Hm." Sherlock replied. "Probably wouldn't be too thrilled to discover I got his darling future-doctor-daughter to smoke."

John laughed a bit at that. "Good thing he isn't your mother, or else he'd know the second she walked through the door."

Sherlock scoffed. "Make sure she chews some gum before she returns home. She left with you; her father would be upset if you didn't escort her back. He's calling her home now and my presence would not be appreciated on her doorstep. I'll get the bill, don't worry about it, I've helped myself to some of Mycroft's funds upon his arrival home."

"Okay, then." John said, drawing out the 'O' in his 'Okay.'

Molly returned to the table and before she could open her mouth, Sherlock interjected. "John is escorting you home. I'll take care of the bill. It was a pleasure."

Sherlock then expected her to leave without a word and so had John, as he was already on his feet.

"Sherlock?" Molly said with a hitch in her voice. He looked up at her questioningly. "I, uh. I had fun today. Thank you."

And in an unexpected turn out of events, she swept down to him and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. After realizing completely what she had done, she started off.

John looked after her with his mouth agape. He looked back to Sherlock who sat there, stunned and incapable of movement. John shut his mouth and went after Molly.

Sherlock sat there for fifteen minutes without moving a single muscle. What snapped him out of his daze was the waiter who came to bring the check. Sherlock paid and swept out of his chair and down the street in a rather melodramatic fashion. Whatever could have been going through his head in those minutes he headed home was incomprehensible. His hormones and logic were waging a war inside his head. As much as he hated it, Sherlock was acting like the angsty teenager he believed himself to be better than.

The entire way back to Molly's house, she had pretended nothing had happened. John wondered to himself how similar Molly and Sherlock were in this fashion. She had told him all she knew of his new love-interest, a girl named Lena, in an attempt to ignore the elephant in the room.

When they arrived at her doorstep, Molly was about to bid farewell to John, when her father opened the door. He had apparently been watching for her, knowing of John's friendship with Sherlock.

Most teenage girls didn't confide in their parents, but it was different with Molly and her father. Her parents were divorced, her mother moving back to her home of Wales. Because of this, Molly only ever saw her on birthdays and holidays. It wasn't as if there was any bad blood between them, Molly's mother was a very busy woman and didn't have much time for anything other than work. It was the reason for the divorce. Molly's father decided then he wouldn't ever let Molly feel as though she was anything other than number one in his life. He wanted her happy so greatly that he gladly accepted when Molly was twelve that the dinner conversation in their house would now revolve around adolescent gossip. He knew all about all of Molly's friends, even more than he cared to admit. And the night of winter formal, he had been the one to cradle Molly's head in his shoulder as she cried and told him all about Stupid Sherlock Holmes and his Stupid Life. Ever since, he had been wary of John Watson, the one person keeping Molly tied, even loosely, to that ungrateful sod. They had remained fair friends after the ordeal, and John would occasionally show up at the Hooper household. Every time, Molly's father would be polite—but _not_ nice—to him.

When he had seen the two of them stride up to the house, Molly's father knew something was wrong. John might not have noticed, but he hadn't raised Molly. He didn't know how her nose crinkled when she was upset and how she laughed hysterically when she was angry. He certainly didn't know that Molly jabbered on relentlessly when she was embarrassed. Normally quiet, she had been talking at John for as long as Molly's father could see them as they walked up the street to the house. Sure, there were a number of things that Molly could be embarrassed about (especially since it was _Molly_), but he knew that it was something more personal than, say, spilling her drink on the waiter. Call it parental intuition.

He opened the door and stared solemnly at the two who were now on the path up to the porch. John acknowledged her father's presence with a curt smile and nod. Her father reciprocated.

"Dinner's ready, Moll. Spaghetti."

"Thanks, dad. But I just ate." Molly turned to John. "Uh, I'll talk to you late—"

"No, nonsense!" Her father's mood turned suddenly. "Come on in, John. I can put dinner up for later when you two are hungry. Now, I've got some words to share with you, Watson." He clapped John on the back, a tad more forcefully than he should have.

Exchanging glances, the two went in to the house.

"Moll, would you mind going upstairs for a moment? I'd like to speak to this one privately."

Molly sighed, her face painted with worry. "Don't be too harsh." She said before kissing him on the cheek and heading to her room.

"So, uh, what would you like to talk about, Mr. Hooper?"

"Call me Steve, John."

"Okay. Steve."

"I know you're friends with that prat that stood Molly up. And I know that the two of you weren't hanging around just the two of you today, either. You're teenagers. You lot travel in packs. So. Was he there?"

Joh shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If he said yes, his plan to get Sherlock and Molly together would be down the drain. If he said no, he'd be lying to Molly' father and John Watson felt as though he were a better person than to lie to a man who just wanted his daughter to be happy. No matter what he said, the outcome wouldn't be favorable. He inhaled sharply and replied.

"Yes. Sherlock was there with us."

"Why the bloody hell would you bring that kid around my daughter after what he already did to her?"

John wished more than anything he could crawl out of his skin and run very very far away.

"Well, sir, I think Sherlock regrets what he did to your daughter and he wants to make it up to her." Okay, so John _was_ lying. But he was smart and he knew how he could twist the strings of fate to intertwine Sherlock and Molly.

"Why should he get another chance? My Molly, my Molls, is much too good for him. He doesn't deserve her."

"Pardon me, sir, if I'm being too direct. But why don't you ask Sherlock himself?"

Steve gave John a look, sizing him up.

"I like you, kid. You sure that you and Molly—"

"No, no. No. Sorry. But, ah, I'm spoken for. But thank you for your interest."

Steve smirked. "Tell that prat to be here at seven sharp tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

**Here's chapter 7! Sorry about the wait, I've been insanely busy with work. If you like what I've written, follow me on tumblr (molly-hooper) where I post tiny little ficlets and oneshots that don't always make it here! **

* * *

As soon as John was out the door, a Tupperware container of spaghetti packed along with him (because who said that dads can't be motherly?) Molly was down the stairs, fearful for whatever her father might have done to traumatize him.

"Dad, what did you do?" She asked her father, who was reheating dinner for himself.

"That Holmes kid is coming to dinner tomorrow." He replied.

Molly's mouth gaped a bit, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Don't worry, Molls. I can play nice if I want to."

"But—why? How? What?"

"I'm not stupid, sweetheart. I know you were running around with him today. I asked John and he told me so. If you're gonna be hanging around him I want to meet him. Make sure he isn't gonna hurt you again."

"I don't even like him anymore."

Her father cocked his eyebrow at her and gave her a knowing look.

"Molly, I just said I'm not stupid."

"It's not even like anything is ever going to happen between us. Just friends is fine. Good, even."

"If you're fine with that, then so am I. But I was a teenager once, longer ago than I'm keen on admitting. I know how a teenage boy's mind works."

Molly couldn't help but laugh at this.

"Dad. Sherlock Holmes is nothing like you were at my age. I can guarantee it."

"All teenage boys are the same, Molls. Some are just better at hiding it."

"Well, we'll see about that."

Sherlock Holmes sat in the breakfast nook of his kitchen, fingers pointed under his chin. He was staring into the middle distance, lost in thought. His mother, clad in a stylish and expensive skirt suit with her dark brown hair pulled high into a bun, sat across from him, mimicking his position. After about five minutes of this, Sherlock noticed her presence.

"I didn't see you there."

"I've been here for five minutes."

"Ah."

"What's on your mind, sweet?"

"Nothing of importance."

"Where are you going tonight?"

"Why ask when you already know?"

"Quite frankly, I wish would you tell me things. Open up a bit more."

"I like the way our relationship functions currently."

"Doesn't mean I do. I'm your mum, for Christ's Sake, Sherlock. I want you to want to tell me what's going on in your life."

Sherlock sighed and rested his hands on the table, he looked directly at his mother.

"I'm meeting a girl's father tomorrow night." Mrs. Holmes smiled.

"Oh? The one who was here today? Molly?"

"Yes."

"And are things getting… serious?"

"Serious? What do you mean, 'serious'?" Sherlock looked absolutely puzzled by this. His mother couldn't help but giggle a bit.

"Do you fancy her, Sherlock?"

"I haven't yet determined to be quite honest."

"Sweet, that isn't something you determine. It's something you feel." She sighed. "I know we are not a family of conventional thinkers." Sherlock scoffed. "But we aren't machines. We do love, and that's normal. It's healthy."

"Like I give a damn about my health."

"Language."

"Sorry."

She sighed. "I think it's time we had the talk."

"Mother I am sixteen years old I know about sex."

"No. You know about biology. You know very little about emotions and probably less about love. Now, I'm going to talk and you will listen. If you can make it through this without interrupting me, I might even give you advice on making sure the poor girl's father doesn't hate you and I feel as though you'll need that very greatly."

Sherlock shut his mouth and listened to his mother as she taught him about a whole new realm of information he'd never thought he'd need—dating.

Molly sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror. A gray cardigan over a purple floral patterned button-up with khaki pants. It sounded fine when read, but looking at her, it was all wrong. The khakis were near skin tight and went up higher on her legs than she would have liked. The floral shirt was loose and unflattering. The gray cardigan had a small tear on the left elbow and was missing a button. It was the best she could do, however. She didn't dress up well and barely cared for matching half the time, so trying to find something fitting for the occasion proved difficult.

She decided to just go with it and hope it didn't look as awful as she thought.

Her hair was pulled into a low messy chignon bun below her right ear, what she wore when she went to interviews for scholarships. She had had success with those, so she figured it might carry over to this as well.

She was about to put on just a little smudge of lip gloss on her lips when the doorbell rang. She looked at her phone, 7 o'clock exactly. _Dad will be impressed_, she thought. Hurrying with the lip gloss, she tried to get downstairs to answer the door before her father did. She nearly fell as she ran down the stairs, but she had made it in time.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she opened the door. Sherlock Holmes stood tall in front of her, wearing a deep royal blue button down shirt and charcoal slacks. In his hand he held a bouquet of lilies.

She smiled and he returned the expression.

"Good evening, Molly. I believe I'm on time."

"Um, perfectly on time, actually. Come in." And she gestured him into the house. He walked into the house and looked around. He made many deductions about her family and life but didn't make any comments on them, per his mother's advice.

"_Do not deduce her father or house, Sherlock. At least not aloud. It may be useful, but it does not always make friends. No one wants their secrets known."_

As Molly tried to awkwardly engage Sherlock in small talk, she noticed his eyes darting about the place. He was doing that thing, what did he call it? Deductive reasoning? Nevertheless, she hoped he didn't find her modest abode as inferior as as it seemed compared to his luxurious home.  
He handed Molly the flowers, "I do hope you enjoy lilies."  
Steve Hooper entered the room and Sherlock peeked up.  
"Hello, Mr. Hooper." He said with a smile. Steve extended his hand and Sherlock shook it firmly.  
"The famous Sherlock Holmes. It's high time we met."  
"I agree."  
"Dinner is ready if you're hungry. I've made Palak Paneer, hope you like Indian."  
"I do."  
"Good." He replied with a forced smile. He had noticed the flowers in Molly's hand. He had also noticed that they were her favorite. He thought that maybe this kid wasn't so bad after all.  
They sat at the dinner table, eating the creamed spinach and cheese cubes, as Steve grilled Sherlock.  
"So, what do your parents do?"  
"They're business people, on paper. But they have more sway over politics than any business."  
"Oh really? They must be powerful people."  
Sherlock smirked. "It's a different sort of power, nothing significant."  
"Dad's a journalist but don't let him trick you into thinking he knows anything 'bout politics, he's a sports writer." Molly interjected.  
"She sure knows how to oversell me." Her father laughed.  
"So what sorts of sports writing do you do?" Sherlock already knew, but he acted ignorant as his mother instructed.  
"Football, mostly. You a fan?"  
"I'm more of an intellectual."  
"Just like my Molls. You know, she got a full ride to Cathedral?"  
"I did not, that's very impressive." He did. Cathedral was the academy he, John, and Molly had all attended.  
"She's looking at a number of schools. Oxford and Durham are interested in her, she's so damn clever."  
"I'm considering those as well. Oxford is looking best, though. That's where my parents went, as well as where my brother currently attends." He had no intention of going to uni.  
"Ahh, a legacy son. That'll almost guarantee you in, if you've got the grades."  
"There's no worry there, top of my class." That was actually true, though he didn't do any of his own work. He had "convinced" his tutor to do it after he had revealed to her he knew about her affair with a prominent university professor who was happily married to her husband of fifteen years.  
"Good on you. Molly's up there as well, in the top five I believe."  
"I'm fourth." She smiled meekly. "It's not nearly as impressive."  
"It's a very impressive feat, Cathedral is one of the top academies in London, and being a scholarship student in the top five, most universities will flock to you."  
Molly blushed. "Thank you."  
"So, what do you do for fun?" Steve asked Sherlock.  
"I play violin. I'm also fond of reading and research."  
"Ah, a true academic then. When I was your age I was more interested in liquor and girls than books and instruments. But that's good on you, keeping your life together."  
"Thank you, Mr. Hooper."  
"Call me Steve, Sherlock."  
"Thank you, Steve."  
The rest of the dinner went swimmingly; Sherlock and Steve made jokes and talked with such mutual interest Molly was sure they had forgotten she was even there. Sherlock liked Steve. He was very clever and had a sharp wit and keen eye that he had only seen from members of his own family. He was able to shed a bit of his disguise towards the end of the dinner, allowing himself to show a bit of his deductions, but not enough to call attention to it. Steve let Molly show Sherlock to the door as he cleaned up the dinner table.  
"I had a great time, Molly. I presume I will be allowed to see more of you from now on, considering your father's newfound affinity for me."  
"I'd, well, I'd like that greatly."  
"I'd tell you goodnight now, but I have every intention of seeing you later. Text me when he's asleep." Sherlock said leaning so close to her ear she could feel his breath. Her heart was thumping loudly in her throat as she looked at him.  
"O-okay?"  
"I'll be seeing you soon, Miss Hooper." He said with a kiss on her forehead before sweeping out of the door in a grand, dramatic way.

* * *

**Let me know what you think! I've been feeling writer's block very badly lately and your guys' reviews help pull me out of it, so leaving more of them will get you guys updates faster :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Because I'm shit at updating, have an extra-long chapter! You guys rock :)  
Thank you for bearing with me as my life has been absolutely mad these past couple months.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly watched the summer rain leave trails on the glass as she curled up on the window seat in her bedroom. She listened intently for her father, growing more anxious each passing second. Soon, her bedroom door opened and her father came to sit next to her.

"As much as I hate myself for admitting it, he isn't too bad. I don't know what happened at your formal, but I can tell he isn't that same kid now. I know you said you aren't interested in him anymore, but if that changes, you'll have my blessing as long as I meet his parents first. Got that, miss?"

She wrapped her arms around her dad and smiled into his shoulder.

"Thank you, daddy, for giving him a chance. He's a nice guy."

"G'night, Molls." He said, kissing her forehead and patting her back before leaving the room.

Molly waited fifteen minutes to text Sherlock and she had decided that those were the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Finally, when the time came and she no longer heard noises from her father's room, she stuffed pillows under her blanket and sent a text to Sherlock Holmes.

_He's in bed._

On my way.

__Molly quickly changed into a dark blue shirt that read "CATHEDRAL WARRIORS" and a pair of jeans. She decided on shoes that were easy to run in—knowing Sherlock Holmes that was quite a possibility. And that lead her to think, what if she gets caught? She would be dead. Right after convincing him that Sherlock was a good kid, she would be showing him just how bad he actually was. She was second guessing her decision to sneak out.

She looked at herself in the mirror and whispered, "Molly Abigail Hooper. You have spent your high school career too busy with books to do anything fun. One night of misbehavior will not kill you. Now you are going to sneak out with Sherlock and have a damn good time, quit worrying."

Her pep talk helped a bit, but she was still nervous. Her phone screen suddenly lit up.

_Look out your window. _

Molly did as it asked and she saw Sherlock Holmes standing in her front lawn. He was wearing a hoodie and jeans and for a split second Molly thought she might have been hallucinating. She had never in her life seen Sherlock dressed so casually, it was almost disquieting. He also had on a black backpack, which she also found odd. The rain had stopped.

She crept down the stairs slowly as to prevent creaking and tip-toed to the front door. She opened it and closed it behind her. Sherlock stood smiling in the middle of her front lawn.

She raced up to him.

"Hi." She said with a bit of a nervous giggle.

"Feeling anxious?" He asked.

"A bit, yeah."

He gave her a cigarette.

"This'll help. Try not to puke like the last time."

She took the cigarette from him and placed it between her lips awkwardly. He lit it for her. Molly took a short drag of it and coughed a bit. She could feel the nicotine make her head swim and her lips tingle. She didn't hate it. He took out a cigarette for himself and lit it.

"So… why did you have me sneak out?"

"You, Miss Hooper, are much too sheltered. It's high time you see London how it should be seen."

And with that, they were off. They ran around London, talking and laughing. She felt so safe with him and he seemed so relaxed, as if this were his time. She soon realized that this was what he lived for, wandering down the city's dark alleys and making trouble.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was falling for Molly Hooper. It was fast and it was powerful. He watched her face light up at the pseudo-danger she felt guilty for loving. They soon found themselves sitting in front of a fountain, people watching.

He'd make remarks about what the people did, what they were hiding, and what they hoped no one would see, which had made her laugh. He loved hearing her laugh.

"Sherlock," She said suddenly, looking right at him. "Deduce me."

"Molly, you don't want me to—"

"Yes I do. Tell me what you think I'm hiding."

"You love this. You're having the time of your life. You've never even imagined doing anything like this before. You feel guilt because of the cigarettes because you've found them disgusting but you fancy how I look when I smoke them and you hope it'll help me to see you as an equal. I do, by the way. You want to go to school for pathology, but your father thinks you're going to go for oncology. Pathology is nowhere near as depressing, so I see your hindrance towards oncology. You're afraid of getting caught, but you needn't worry. You're with me and I never get caught."

"You're good."

"You're in love with me."

"Very good." She said meekly, staring up at him.

"Have you ever drank before?"

"Alcohol? Er, once. I had a taste of vodka at Mary Morstan's house over spring break when her parents were in Spain. It was bloody awful, though."

"Your best friend, Mary, isn't she?"

"Yeah, been friends since before we could talk. Why?"

"Keep John away from her if she means that much to you. God knows how he is with members of the fairer sex. Quite honestly, I'm surprised he's never made a pass at you."

She laughed at this. "Why would he make a pass at me?"

"You really don't know how stunning you are, do you?" He almost whispered. Molly's breath hitched as they stared at each other.

* * *

Sherlock had told Molly he knew the perfect place in the city to get pissed, so she followed him. They had climbed up the fire escape on an old building and reached the roof. From there, they had a perfect view of the city skyline and the lights reflecting off of the Thames. It was absolutely gorgeous, enough so to make Molly lose her breath for a couple of seconds.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the building and Molly followed suit. He opened his backpack and pulled out a bottle of wine for himself and one for her.

"You might vomit upon tasting it as you did with the cigarette. It's an acquired taste. Don't be so afraid."

She gave him a worried look before taking a drink from the bottle.

He was right, it was harsh, but the strawberry twist helped it go down. She didn't vomit.

"That fucking burns!" She choked out.

He raised his eyebrows at hearing her curse. She was loosening up. He liked that.

"If you don't wish to drink, you don't have to." He said, taking his bottle and downing another swig with ease. Apparently he was used to this.

Molly put on her brave face and grabbed the bottle. This time, she braced herself, and took another drink.

"Bravo, Molly." He smirked. "It's best not to drink so fast, though. Wait a bit longer."

He gave her a cigarette and took one for himself. She thought that the two tastes complimented each other in a brash way and instantly understood the meaning behind an alcohol and cigarette voice, noting that if anyone had one if would be Sherlock. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. She had taken a few more drinks and began to feel more uninhibited. She was definitely a lightweight, being small and never having been drunk before.

"Do you want to play a drinking game, Molly?"

"Sure. What do you have in mind?"

"Truth or dare, without the dares and…" He cocked his eyebrow. "With a twist."

"Oh?"

"If I catch you in a lie, you have to remove an article of clothing and take a drink. And vice-versa."

"Are you trying to get in my pants, Mister Holmes?"

He leaned in close to her.

"If I wanted to have sex with you now, I'd be much more direct about it."

Her face turned redder than it already was. "Fine, but I'm going first."

"Let's play."

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Yes."

He wasn't lying.

"Who wasn't your mother?"

He looked slightly annoyed.

"Yes, and I do believe it's one question per turn."

"Okay, your turn."

"Have you ever lied to your father?"

"No."

"Take a drink."

"I haven't!"

"Everyone has lied to their parents at one point or another."

She didn't protest, instead taking a drink from her bottle and removing her shoes.

"My turn!" She chided. "Okay. Let's see… Hm."

"Get on with it." He said, annoyed.

"Let me think!" She giggled and leaned in close to him. "I've got it. How many B's have you gotten in school?"

"None."

"Liar!"

Sherlock thought she wouldn't be able to see past his cold look of indifference, but she had. He begrudgingly took a drink of his whiskey and stripped off his hoodie, revealing a tight gray tee that did an impeccably good job at outlining his muscles. Molly liked that.

"It was art, freshman year. I hated it."

Molly couldn't help but laugh loudly at this, trying to imagine Sherlock painting.

"I do believe it's my turn."

"Shoot."

"If you could snog anyone at Cathedral, who would it be."

Frankly, Molly was drunk at this point and she didn't much care for keeping up appearances as she normally did. And because of this, Molly replied with: "Of course it'd be you, you git."

Sherlock smirked and side-eyed Molly in the best way.

"I know you aren't lying, but would it hurt for you to remove an article of clothing anyway?"

"Easy, boy. It's my turn."

Sherlock shrank back in defeat, but did not give up on his goal.

Molly continued to speak.

"Why do you want me to take off my clothes so badly?"

"Because I want to see how far I can push you."

She leaned into his ear and whispered, "Liar."

He smirked and looked at her before throwing back a drink and taking off his shirt. His skin glowed with the rest of London, gleaming in a way that made Molly want to forget herself and get lost in him.

"How'd you know?" He asked.

"Sherlock, I know you better than you want to admit. You don't want to admit to not wanting to wait until later on." Sherlock perked up at this, meaning there might be a later. "You just want to see me naked now. I'm not in the top five of our class for no reason."

"Well, I've got a question for you." He said, putting his hand on hers. Their fingers laced together as he whispered to her, "If you had one thing left to say to me, what would it be?"

In lieu of answering, Molly took off her shirt, revealing a simple black bra. She took a drink of her wine and noticed the bottle was two-thirds gone. Sherlock's was even emptier than that.

He couldn't help but stare at her half-naked figure and he decided that he wouldn't stop until she was his.

Giving up on the game and getting lost in conversation, the two found their fingers intertwined. Their empty wine bottles lay behind them as they giggled drunkenly and made in-jokes with each other.

And they shared an experience that is well known to the human consciousness. A moment that was so fleeting, over so soon, and they could have gladly spent an eternity in it. Just to spend a few more minutes in that existence would have made either of them God. This was their fraction of time, their own little sliver of the universe. That rooftop on that Summer night was heaven, if only for a little while.


End file.
